A second chance, Part two
by eureka
Summary: A Jedi's journey between realties continues... Or is it about to end? (mild slash, nothing graphic--kissing, hugging ect.)


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A Second Chance

Part Two

By Jayne Hundt

[jayne_hundt@yahoo.com][1]

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© 2000

***

Qui-Gon Jinn surfaced from his meditation, the transfer complete, the boom still echoing. It was always disconcerting to travel in such a way, but after several months, he had learned how to deal with the physical side effects. 

It was the other side effects that troubled him. One would think that each time he switched realties it wold become easier. But it hadn't. It was getting harder to say good-by to a potential home and continue his search. It was getting harder to find that Obi-Wan was dead, in love with someone else, or fallen to the Darkside. 

He was getting tired and didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. Only the distant hope promise of a home kept him moving. 

With his eyes still closed, he turned the 'saber off then sunk a hand into a pocket. There, he fingered a holograph. He had already been traveling for several months when he obtained it. Mace and Master Yoda had given the picture to him. How many different realities has it been since then? Sixteen? Or was it seventeen? It was hard to keep track. The different worlds were starting to blend together in his memory, making it impossible to remember. 

His hand sought the second item in his pocket: his Padawan's braid.

A lightsaber and a swath of hair were the only physical things left to him of his Obi-Wan, the Obi-Wan of his original reality. That Obi-Wan was gone, killed in battle. But somewhere there was another Obi-Wan. He was sure that Obi-Wan needed him as much as he needed Obi-Wan.

Finally, Qui-Gon opened his eyes and looked at the ruined garden that lay before him. The grass was tall, the shrubbery wild and unkempt. He looked to where the Khimm tree should have been. It wasn't there, but several older trees that he remembered were. This told him that the temple had been abandoned for over half a century.

Scorch marks lined the garden walls. Derbies lay in scattered heaps. Looking into the sky, he saw that except for the occasional hawk-bat, it was devoid of all traffic. 

Two of the temple's pillars were completely gone. The east-most pillar was intact, but charred. The fourth he couldn't see from this viewpoint, but guessed that it had been destroyed as well. The central council pillar had been obliterated, reduced to a stump.

Afterimages of death lingered, permanently woven into the temple's walls. Vague impressions of people fighting carried on the breeze like a scent. Despair, fear, suffering, anger, it was all there, in the air he breathed. Danger was here as well. 

Qui-Gon fingered his 'saber's activation switch indecisively. He was anxious to depart. There was nothing here for him, yet something kept him from leaving. Was it simple curiosity? Or was it the Force? Decision made, he tucked the switch 'saber into his belt at his back. It was hidden and within reach, but unlikely to be accidentally activated, stolen or lost. 

He unfastened Obi-Wan's 'saber and kept it in hand. Hesitantly, Qui-Gon then walked towards the garden's exit. 

It was dark inside. The glow-panels had long since stopped working, but light filtered in through cracks and holes in the walls. Derbies crunched underfoot. In some places the rubble was piled so high that he had to backtrack. 

He had no destination in mind. He simply walked where the Force willed him.

Somehow the silence was unnerving. The gardens and arboretums once held the sounds of birds and water but no longer did. There was no hum of the air circulators or outside air traffic. The music of the fountains was gone, replaced by the eerie whistle of the wind.

Worst of all was the sound of the Force. It was silent without the hum of billions of beings. There was a light scattering of people towards the lower levels of the city. But they had a wild, primal aura about them that one encountered only in war-like hunting-gathering societies. Whoever these people were, they lived with the threat of being hunted on such a constant basis that it affected their auras.

After a few ten minuets of traveling, Qui-Gon made his way from the center of the temple to the outer walls where the living quarters use to be. There he hopped to find a window. He was curious to as what the rest of Coruscant looked like. He never made it.

It started with a familiar metal-on-stone sound, almost like metal wheels rolling on pavement. Where had he heard that sound before? It grew louder, obviously moving towards him. He stood there for a moment, listing. What direction was it coming from? 

Scalp tingling and hair standing on end, he stood at the intersection of four large halls, trying to decide which direction. The echoes bounced the sound every which way, making it impossible to tell. He couldn't tell how far away they were. The sound was all distorted.

They were on him before he knew it. Destroyer droids, two of them rolled out from behind a distant corner in one hall. Activating Obi-Wan's lightsaber, Qui-Gon wasted no time in touring and running down another hall.

Only to run into a third droid.

It was waiting for him, almost as if the three had set a trap for him. Pushing the impossible thought aside, he deflected a volley of shots. Mindful of the two droids behind him, he used Force enhanced speed to run towards the third destroyer. 

*If* he could get past that one droid, he'd have all three of them on one side, which was preferable to being caught in a crossfire. And *if* he did that, he might be able to gain enough distance. With distance came time, the few seconds needed to pull out the hidden 'saber and get out of there.

Quicker than the droid, Qui-Gon shot past it. Unfortunately, the first two droids had caught up and opened fire as he ran. He blocked most of the bolts, but one breached his defenses.

It clipped his right shoulder. Had it hit him full in the shoulder, he wouldn't have had an arm left. Never the less, His arm was now useless as bone, nerves, and muscles were charred.

The pain allowed a second breech. It was his left leg. Like the first, it was only a partial hit. But it was enough to slow him down. Only the Force kept him on his feet and moving.

With one arm useless he couldn't pull out the switch 'saber. With the leg damaged he couldn't run with the speed needed to get enough distance. And putting down Obi-Wan's saber was out of the question.

With only one option left, Qui-Gon stood his ground and deflected shots. Picking a droid, he deflected its own, and its two companion's blots to it. Its shields held.

After several minuets, its shields started to flicker. Finally, they gave out and the destroyer exploded. Shrapnel flew in all directions. Several pieces managed to find their way to Qui-Gon, but he didn't notice. His entire attention was focused upon the remaining droids.

He picked another droid and reflected the shots back to it. With one droid gone, there were less shots to deflect, making his task both easier and harder. Easier because didn't have to move as fast to keep up, harder because it'd take a third longer to bring down its shields.

For a split second he was reminded of the last time he saw such droids. Obi-Wan was at his side. Minuets later the Sith appeared. Minuets after that, Obi-Wan was dead.

Qui-Gon missed a shot. It sizzled past his ear, missing him by millimeters. He was getting tired and couldn't keep this up much longer. Another shot made it past. This one scorched the sleeve of his tunic. 

The droids in front of him seemed to blur. He didn't see it when the shields began to flicker.

Finally, the second droid blew, but Qui-Gon wasn't conscious to see it.

***

Knight Kenobi. The words felt right and true, Qui-Gon reflected as he fingered the braid in his hand. All of Obi-Wan's life had been dedicated to one goal: to become a knight. He finally achieved that goal. He was granted the rank of knight posthumously.

Obi-Wan lay upon the unlit pyre, pale and lifeless. Eyes shut, face peaceful and serene, he looked almost as if he were asleep. But he wasn't. He was dead. 

Dressed in a new tunic and cloak, evidence of the deathblow was hidden from view. But Qui-Gon knew. He saw what happened, helpless to do anything but watch as the red blade bisected his student in half.

As his master, the job fell to Qui-Gon. He was to light the pyre. As he gripped the torch in his hand, he wondered if he had the strength to carry out this final duty. 

His arm shook as passed the flame over the tender. The fire caught, then spread, slowly enveloping the body.

Heat licked his skin, somehow leaving him cold. Cold and hollow. That was how he felt and no amount of heat could change that.

As he watched the fire, a fact became abundantly clear: he was a failure. For a master to lose a Padawan in battle, there was no higher disgrace. A master was to protect his apprentice, was to sacrifice his own life for that apprentice if need be. Qui-Gon failed to do this.

He felt so cold. Cold and empty. The sound of the flames. The smell of smoke, of burning flesh teased his senses. The feel of heat on his skin, yet the feeling of the cold remained inside. He stared into the flames, watching the fire devour the body within.

"Master?" He heard Obi-Wan's voice.

A tendril of fear slither down his spine. Impossibly, the figure within the fire turned its head and opened its eyes. Blue-gray orbs stared into his. "Master?"

The grayish eyes continued to stare at him, refusing to burn as skin and hair charred. Firelight reflected within the eyes.

"MASTER!"

With a start, Qui-Gon woke from the nightmare, only to find himself within the grasp of another. Obi-Wan's eyes still bore into him. He struggled to get away from the gaze, only to be restrained.

Slowly, he realized that it wasn't a nightmare. It was just another dream. He stopped his struggles and let the dream play out. 

"It's okay Master. It's over. It was just a dream," Obi-Wan's voice soothed. Qui-Gon was tempted to believe that it really was Obi-Wan, that he wasn't dead. 

"Shh, it's alright now." Obi-Wan's voice sounded distant, as if he was speaking from across a large, empty room.

A cold, wet cloth was pressed to his forehead. It felt good. He was tired. So very tired. Tired and cold. 

An arm snaked under his head and shoulders, lifting him up. A cup was held to his lips. "Drink, Master."

The fluid was bitter. He didn't want to drink it. 

"Drink it. It will help your fever."

He turned his head to avoid the cup. 

"Master, please," Obi-Wan's voice held an edge of worry. "Please drink it."

Even in a dream he couldn't refuse his Padawan. He did as asked, the liquid burning his throat. Moments later, a second cup appeared. Qui-Gon didn't hesitate to drink it, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was water.

Still in Obi-Wan's arms, Qui-Gon looked up into grayish-blue eyes. Obi-Wan looked down at him. A tear slid from one eye and Qui-Gon reached up and wiped it a way. That simple gesture brought more tears. No longer able to fight the exhaustion, Qui-Gon's eyes shut. 

He slid into sleep, once again leaving Obi-Wan alone, alone to fight his tears. This time, Obi-Wan's tears weren't that of sorrow. 

***

Consciousness came slowly. First he realized he was lying on a mattress. He was tired, but pleasantly so, as if he had just emerged from a meditation. Someone slept next to him, but in his dreamy state he didn't thing anything of it. It felt right. He drifted back to sleep, somehow more content than he had been in months.

Qui-Gon woke again, alone, to the odor of smoke and the popping sound of a campfire. He smelt some kind of meat. For a moment he just laid there starring up at the ceiling. Ceiling? Campfire?

He turned his head, and sure enough, he was laying next to a small campfire in the middle of what looked like an apartment. A smoke hole was cut in the ceiling above the fire. The once white ceiling was black with soot. The hearth was ringed by industrial bricks. A pile of firewood--broken furniture--was stacked against a wall.

Sitting up, Qui-Gon discovered that his shoulder, ribs, and leg were sore. The twinge of pain brought his memories. He was in yet another temple on a deserted Coruscant. There was destroyer droids, three of them. He remembered destroying one, but didn't know what happened to the other two.

Vaguely, he remembered another presence with him before he woke up. There was the smell and sound of fire. He remembered dreaming of Obi-Wan. 

Slowly, he climbed to his feet. He was dizzy and his ears rang slightly. Save for half a dozen bandages, he was naked. His arm and leg were mostly healed, but still needed some attention. To his surprise, those two injuries were mild compared to the others. A long, deep, gash decorated his chest. Another was located across two ribs, which he guessed had been broken. Most of the other cuts weren't as deep, but badly infected. 

He spied his clothes folded near the bed. They were washed, patched, and mended. Blood stained the fabric, turning large portions of the once beige fabric to a slightly darker color. He winced at the size of the stains. 

Fully clothed, he took a closer look at the room. His bed was a foam mat that had been dragged to the middle of the room. Tattered blankets covered it. The hearth was in the middle of the room, ringed by cement blocks. Something that looked like it might have once been a vent grate lay across the coals. A large avian of some sort was barbecuing on the grill. There were no windows, but had a small maintenance door and two vent shafts.

Suddenly, he realized where he was: one of the temple's maintenance storerooms. The room was never intended for human use and was only accessible by the vents and the droid-access door.

It made perfect sense. At a meter and a half tall, and a meter wide, the maintenance tunnels were too small for unfolded destroyers, but big enough for the droids they were designed for. Additionally, the meter-sized vents provided two additional routs of escape should the need arise. Furthermore, most parts of the temple could be accessed through those vents and tunnels.

A beeping sound grabbed his attention. It was a proximity alarm. Someone was approaching. With the Force, he reached out to the approaching person and then staggered back against the wall, stunned. 

He thought it was a dream, but it wasn't. He thought Obi-Wan wasn't real.

He felt Obi-Wan answer his mental touch. He had never felt anything so sweet in his life.

Without hesitation, Qui-Gon pushed open the maintenance doors and stooped into the tunnel. The motion hurt his ribs, but he ignored the pain. After a dozen meters, he caught sight of his love. 

Sinking to his knees he did nothing but stare for a long moment. He was scared that it was an illusion, scared that Obi-Wan would be suddenly snatched away from him again. He was unable to move, unable to speak and unable to breathe. 

He felt dizzy. Finally, he drew a shaky breath. Tears streamed down his face but he didn't notice. Obi-Wan rushed forward and encompassed Qui-Gon in a hug. No words were spoken, as none were needed. 

It may have been a few minuets, or a few hours latter, when Obi-Wan spoke. "This tunnel isn't shielded, Master. We should go back." His voice was nothing but a whisper, shaking with emotion.

Reluctantly, Qui-Gon climbed to his feet, but he didn't let go of his Padawan's hand. Now that he found him, he wasn't going to let go. 

Once back in the room, Obi-Wan turned the alarm off. Still holding Qui-Gon's hand, he one handedly set a pot of water on the grill. With a fork he then turned over the meat. 

Qui-Gon watched the younger man. He was thinner than he remembered, a lot thinner. His hair was longer, and his braid still hung past his ear. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he was pale. He didn't have the same scar that the Obi-Wan in the holograph did, but he had different ones. Most of them were still pinkish, not yet faded to white. His clothes were clean, but patched and mended in most places. 

He realized something. If this wasn't the Obi-Wan of the holograph, then there was still another Obi-Wan out there. How many were there? He only knew of two, but what if there were more? Was it possible there was an infinite number of 'ifs'? If there were an infinite number of 'ifs,' than what were the odds of those other Obi-Wans finding a home? One in a hundred? A thousand? A million perhaps? 

"How did you did you find me?" Obi-Wan asked, startling him from his thoughts. He pulled Qui-Gon to the bed and they both sat. 

"I might ask you the same question." Qui-Gon's lips turned upward in a wry smile. He let go of his hand to finger the braid hanging past his ear. "The Force and a lightsaber brought me. I've been searching through different realities. Is it the same for you?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Master Yoda called them 'ifs.' He said that if a tree died, the world would be different than if the tree had lived."

"Master Yoda just may be the universal constant," Qui-Gon muttered dryly. "How long have you been here, in this reality?"

"Not quite a year. Before that, I had been traveling for about a month." Obi-Wan looked down at his hands for a long moment, suddenly shy. 

"Master, there's something--"

"I never meant to--" 

Both men started to speak at the same time. With a smile, Qui-Gon motioned for Obi-Wan to continue.

"There are things I never got the chance to tell you--I mean my Qui-Gon--before he died." He continued to stare down at his hands for a long moment before gathering his courage. Finally, not able to put any more words together, he opened his mind to Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan displayed his memories. First there was Qui-Gon's death. He died in his Padawan's arms. There was the memory of the pyre, and Obi-Wan's promise to Anakin. Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan went through the motions of life afterwards, empty and joyless.

All of this was accompanied by the feelings of grief. Anger and hurt shadowed the grief. Qui-Gon knew where the hurt came from, it was the foundation of his own guilt. His anger brought guilt with it; guilt at his anger, guilt of failure and inadequacy. 

It was that same guilt that prevented the council from bestowing the rank of knight upon Obi-Wan. This strengthened his feelings of failure.

Then something changed: he built a lightsaber. Obi-Wan's life was no longer empty, but had a purpose. It had a glimmer of hope. It was painful to travel between realities, to say goodbye over and over, but now he had a goal.

Then he was stranded in this reality.

He spent the following year in a struggle for survival. Food was scarce, as there was no supplies or emergency stores left in the temple and surrounding buildings. He had to hunt. Water had to be collected from the city's lower levels, which was dangerous for there were not only occupied by destroyers but scavengers as well.

Qui-Gon winced as the images floated across the bond. His newfound hope was destroyed with the 'saber. He spent the past year alone and in misery. He had resigned himself to finishing his life here.

"Almost a year ago, I came here," Obi-Wan said. He leaned against his Master's side, and Qui-Gon draped his arm around him. "I was curious, so I looked around for a bit. I ran into a patrol of destroyers. Before I could switch out of here, the 'saber was destroyed." 

"Master Yoda told me that I was given a second chance. A second chance to correct my mistakes, a second chance at happiness," Obi-Wan continued. "I believed him at first. Then I was stranded here. I thought I was paying penance, that I was in hell."

Qui-Gon tightened his hold on Obi-Wan. What did Obi-Wan believe he was paying penance for? Before he could ask, Obi-Wan answered the unspoken question.

"I was foolish. I should have told you how I felt, but I was afraid. I should have told you that I loved you. I'll understand if you don't feel the same, but--"

Qui-Gon stopped Obi-Wan's words with a slow, deep kiss. "There are things I haven't said as well." He opened his mind, showing his own memories. "You died believing I pushed you aside for Anakin, that I no longer wanted you. You didn't know of my love. You weren't the only one who was afraid. I was terrified. You paid for my fears with your life. We both have a second chance." 

Obi-Wan kissed him again, savoring the taste of Qui-Gon's lips. He ran a hand through Qui-Gon's hair, severing the feel of the silky strands. Breathing through his nose, he took in his scent.

Reluctantly, the kiss ended and they separated to look in each other's eyes. Obi-Wan's hand slid from Qui-Gon's head to cup a cheek. Tenderly, he caressed his lips with a thumb. Qui-Gon's skin felt dry and hot. Hot with arousal, but also hot with fever.

Obi-Wan pushed his master gently to the bed. "You need to rest, Master."

Qui-Gon opened his moth to protest, but Obi-Wan's finger on his lips silenced him. "I just found you. I'm not going to loose you again. I gave you something for the pain and fever this morning, but it has worn off."

Qui-Gon vaguely remembered the bitter drink. 

"You've been in a healing trance for several days. You're going to need several more." Obi-Wan got up and took the three steps to the hearth. The pot of water was now boiling.

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan dropped something into the water. "What is that?"

"Khimm tree bark. It's for your fever." Obi-Wan hesitated before asking a question. "In your reality, did you and your Obi-Wan ever go to Trovis Minor?"

Qui-Gon smiled at the memory. "Yes we did, ten years ago. You--I mean my Obi-Wan--tripped and tumbled down a hill. I remember it well."

"It's a good thing that thorn-berry thicket broke my fall," Obi-Wan said dryly. "It would have ruined my day if I had rolled off the ledge of that cliff and fallen to my death. I broke my arm and was covered from head to toe in cuts. I got a good opportunity to learn field medicine. I learned about khimm bark that day." 

"Did you learn anything else?"

"I learned what poison sumac looks like. What it feels like too." 

Qui-Gon laughed, remembering his rash-covered Padawan. The laugh died as an old thought made itself known once again: this Obi-Wan wasn't the same as the one who died months ago. They shared the same genetic makeup, shared similar memories, but were two separate individuals. Or were they?

Through the Force, their auras felt the same. Identical twins and clones didn't share identical auras, as more than a genetic makeup went into an aura. It was shaped by experience and learning. And by the Force. 

They both shared the memory of that day. Did this Obi-Wan share all of his Obi-Wan's memories? If This Obi-Wan shared those memories, did that make him the same person as his Obi-Wan? Even if there were slight variations, would they still be the same people?

Obi-Wan was quiet too, Qui-Gon noticed as he watched him tend to their dinner. Was he thinking the same things? Did his own aura feel the same to him as his Qui-Gon's? Was he just as confused as he? Or was he simply reacting to Qui-Gon's suddenly somber mood? 

Qui-Gon decided to break the silence. "What kind of bird is that?" 

Obi-Wan quirked his lips in a smile that he remembered well. "It's not a bird. It's a hawk-bat."

Qui-Gon tried to not make a face. Hawk-bats were mammalian pests that fed off of granite slugs and garbage. They were known to spread disease and parasites worse than rats or pigeons. 

"It's all I have. I have a garden, but nothing is ripe."

Not for the first time, Qui-Gon noted how thin Obi-Wan was.

"It's actually not bad tasting," sarcastic humor dripped from Obi-Wan's voice. He put the meat onto a plate. "It tastes like Noritian chicken, only stringer, chewier and gamier." 

Noritian chicken didn't begin to describe the foul-tasting meat. But Qui-Gon was hungry, so he ate. He inched closer to the fire, feeling cold as his fever returned. "Do you want to take a chance and switch tomorrow morning, or wait until I've had a chance to heal up some more? Some of the realities I've visited have been anything but pleasant. We may need to get out of there in a hurry."

"I can't leave, not yet," Obi-Wan said as took the khimm bark drink of the grill to cool. "There's something I need to do first. There's a reason why the Force brought me--us--here."

***

End of part two

Title: A Second Chance; Part One 

Author: Jayne Hundt jayne_hundt@yahoo.com 

Series: Riding the Wheel of If 

Rating: PG-13 

Category: AU 

Archive: Yes, if the disclaimers remain intact 

Disclaimer one: 'Star Wars' is the creation of George Lucas, and is the property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. No profit was, or will be made from this story. Infringements upon copyright and trademark laws are unintentional. 

Disclaimer two: 'Riding the Wheel of If' is a story arc created by Terri Hamill. The complete story, and more of Terri's writing can be found At: http://homes.arealcity.com/HiddenRealm/mm/mm.html 

Summery: A Jedi's journey between realties continues... 

   [1]: mailto:jayne_hundt@yahoo.com



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